


Nosferat

by anathematician



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angst, Bathing/Washing, Biting, Bloodlust, Bloodplay, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Folklore, Forbidden Love, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Gore, Teasing, anachronistic medieval setting, coin chasing hunter Sehun, sharing a coffin, world-weary vampire Jongin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2020-12-22 17:20:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21080237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anathematician/pseuds/anathematician
Summary: “When you come to kill me, Sehun, I want you to be ready. I want a fair fight, an honest fight.”Sehun likes to think that the only thing that matters in life is killing vampires. A beautiful stranger arrives to disabuse him of that notion.





	1. The Price of a Life

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt Number: T49  
Pairing: Kai/Sehun  
Monster: Vampire  
Prompt: Vampire hunter Sehun is always on the run, slaughtering prey after prey. Jongin is the only vampire he's never been able to catch. Little does he know, Jongin wants nothing more than to be caught.  
Rating: NC-17  
Author's Notes: Thank you to the prompter for letting me indulge in some angsty hunter x vampire goodness. This was a delight to plot. While I ran out of time polishing the subsequent chapters, I'll have them out soon. I hope you enjoy this first installment nonetheless!

  
They were a family, the four of them. Or something very much like it. Now a man in a great big coat with a great big sword had come to steal what little happiness they found in this hollow wood, playing house in a cave that wasn’t even fit for beasts.

They took turns darting in and out of the tree line, just to get a closer look at their doom. It was like a game. Maybe this was the happiness that eluded them? Was this the primal pleasure, the thrill of a hunt, that made the wolves cry at night? The world was so vibrant and new, and everything hurt so much. So, so much. All they wanted to do was run away from the pain, and find solace in one another as they lay in each other’s arms during the day and fed by night. The hunger was the worst. The emptiness, the gnawing. It never went away.

But to feed meant to kill, and that was the most enduring source of carnal pleasure. Oh, they wanted to kill more than anything. Kill…Kill…Kill…

The snow fell slowly around them as they raced to meet their doom. They could hear it: the sonorous pumping of a heart. They could already taste his hot blood on their lips, and feel it steaming down their chins and over their hands in thick ribbons.

Someone very precious told them that what was dead could never be killed. That was a lie.

They were fast, but the hunter was faster.

The first one fell on him silently, like a hawk. He was precise, swift, and missed nevertheless. _It was impossible_, he thought. _How could I miss?_ He pivoted, too wide, and the stranger sliced up through his stomach and into his lungs. And there was blood, just like he wanted, but not at all how imagined. And now the snow beneath his feet was steaming, but it was the most beautiful color he had ever seen. He died too slowly, choking on his blood.

It was a terrible thing to witness. The second one screamed and clawed at her tattered dress. Her voice was lost in the wind, just like the sound of the knife flying through the air and into her broken heart.

The third moved more cautiously than her siblings. Too cautiously. The stranger met her in the clearing with a spin that sent her sprawling. It didn’t take long for her to steady herself, and her rage gave her strength. She swiped at the hunter, and the hunter blocked her with the front of his sword. She jumped left. The hunter rolled right and tossed something in the air that made her eyes burn. She swung blindly until she struck something warm. She dug in and felt flesh tear underneath her fingertips. She twisted herself around in a pirouette, arms outstretched. She had been a dancer in her previous life. The strange met grace with grace, striking her just above her collarbone.

The last thing she saw was the sky, like milk, above her. The body collapsed into the snow.

“We’ll get him, my darling,” said the fourth, not realizing that he spoke to a corpse. They were all gone. Something sharp and hot struck his shoulder and sent him flying backward into the trees. He spat and hissed like a trapped animal, which he was. The thing pinning him to the earth wouldn’t budge, no matter how much he thrashed.

He looked up at the hunter, this slayer of demons and herald of eternity, and sighed. He had a kind face for a man who made his money so unkindly. He didn’t even see the sword flash as it came down on his neck.

The stranger shook the blood from the blade and returned it to the holster tucked beneath his coat.

He could feel the storm closing in around him.

***

“He’s as good as dead, I would say.” The innkeeper wrang his apron in his hands, twisting it here and there until it finally produced a trickle of gray liquid. Satisfied, he pressed on: “And so I do say! A fool, that’s what he was. Nothing more than yer garden variety fool.”

A man clutching his tankard tighter than any hope or dream he had for himself in this godforsaken village gave a huff. That was as much of an agreement as anything, the innkeeper figured. He slapped the apron against the bar and resumed his vigorous ritual of arbitrarily pushing it around in wide circles. This, he thought, would give him plenty of time to marshal his thoughts. He only had several of them, so it didn’t take him very long. He abandoned his toiling no sooner than he had started and ran the soiled cloth across his forehand. Beads of gray liquid scintillated in the unforgiving firelight. The only thing more unforgiving was the innkeeper’s relentless chiding. He took great pride in it.

“I’m just glad ye didn’t pay him, Ricard,” he said. The Ricard he spoke to was small in every way, with a pudgy little face like a ball of pinched marzipan. Sitting high atop a barstool, he looked like an over-stuffed doll in his jerkin. His face flushed bright red.

“Well…” said Mayor Ricard, digging his equally pudgy marzipan fingers into his goatskin cap. “As it happens…well, you see, this trouble with the vampires…vampire, I mean, well it’s given us quite a bit of grief.”

“Quiet, Ricard!” Came the voice of the village constable, a man by the name of Piotr Hauch. Maybe it was the fire raging inside the inn, maybe it was the Surprise Stew, but constable Hauch was sweating. He rattled his empty tankard on the bar, annoyed.

The innkeeper clucked disapprovingly. “Ye shouldn’t have given that charlatan a cent.”

For the first time in a long time, the mayor decided to put his foot down. “I have it on good authority that he single-handedly cleared out of a nest of the buggers near the old castle!”

“Is that right? Whose authority?”

And just like that, the mayor picked his foot back up. Where did I hear that again? He thought to himself. He tapped his finger on his chin.

Hauch’s low rumbling crescendoed into a drunken roar. “Never you mind whose authority, you pockmarked son of a whore! And anyway, we can’t have vampires slaughtering—” He stopped short. A nearby group of inn goers hushed themselves and turned their anxious gaze on the constable. He lowered his voice and spoke through clenched teeth: “The killings can’t go on any longer! Not a single man, woman, child or pig more!”

“I hear ye hired five different hunters in the past three months, and not one of them has returned. Six now, counting the latest one. Good hunters, at that. What ye need is a proper hunting party. That’d be Marta’s boy, Kiril, Grigore, myself of course…”

The constable slammed his tankard down on the bar. “A hunting party in the middle of winter? There’s an idea!” He spat. “I have one for you: keep your nose out of official village business! And bring us another barrel of beer before we dry out in this sauna you call an inn!”

The innkeeper slapped his apron across his shoulder and pushed his way through the roiling sea of people. Yes, yes, another barrel of beer. Some cheese, if you have it. More bread, more wood on the fire, another room for the night! All this trouble, for what? A few more coins in his pocket? He patted his pocket tenderly. _Dragos, old boy, what luck!_

A group crowded around the long table didn’t budge as he drew closer to the window. They huddled around a bowl of something, Dragos couldn’t recall what, as if it were their last supper. For all they knew, it was. The wind howled. Dragos wiped a window pane with his round elbow and peeked out. He hadn’t seen any thing like it in at least a decade. In fact, he could barely see it at all: the whole town had been swallowed up by a sudden blizzard. Thatched roofs sagged under the weight of snow it never intended to bear. All he could make out of the church was the tip of its wooden spire, wobbling uneasily in the wind. It wouldn’t last long, taking a beating like this. It would be a shame if the gilded cross were to snap off, and become lost in the storm. A real shame.

A rival troupe of circus performers heaved their rucksacks onto the table, tearing Dragos’ away from his fantasy and the group at the far end of the table from their dinner. They said nothing to each other. One look was enough. _That was mimes for you,_ he thought. The tension between them was so thick you could cut it with a spoon. That reminded him: the meat pies were just about ready. Dragos whistled, and a mousy young man slunk into the kitchen.

Dragos surveyed his domain with pride. He counted forty heads, at least. Some warmed themselves by the fireplace, others crowded around the bar. Despite the act of god whipping at the village outside, or maybe in spite of it, they seemed a happy lot. They were warm. They were singing songs and telling jokes and draining tankard after tankard of ale. They were in such high spirits that they didn’t even notice the door blow open. They didn’t see the hooded stranger with the knives strapped to his chest step out of storm and into the inn. And over the roar of laughter and lute, they didn’t hear the sack slung over his shoulder hit the floor with a sickening thud.

***

It took several long moments for a hush to fall over the inn. Hauch, for all his finely-tuned detective instincts, was the last to notice the sudden change in atmosphere. He turned slowly on his barstool to face the source of all this silence.

Something heavy landed at his feet and rolled underneath him. Hauch looked down, and two cloudy, red-rimmed eyes stared blankly up at him. So, it was going to be one of those nights. There was a scream from somewhere in the crowd, and another gestured wildly in the sign of the cross.

A hooded stranger stood at the center of the room.

“I’ll have the rest now, Hauch.” He said.

“It’s y-you!” The constable stammered.

“It’s me.”

The locals had never seen their dear constable so shaken. It was almost like he’d seen a ghost. That would be silly, of course: ghosts weren’t real. Even if they were, the constable wouldn’t be so lucky. Hauch patted his tunic desperately. The stranger closed the space between them, kicking aside the severed head with his boot. He grasped Hauch by the lapels.

“My god, stop!” Said no one. This was the best thing they’d seen all night.

Hauch suddenly found what we was looking for, and procured a small velvet bug. The stranger released him.

Hauch shook its contents into the palm of his hand. He counted the coins quickly at first, and proving difficult, decided to count them more carefully. His accuracy didn’t improve. The locals watched the scene play out with a pity and disappointment spread across their face, as if any of them knew how to count. “Two…three. No, one. Shit. Seven…”

The stranger snatched the purse from his Hauch’s hands and weighed it in his own. “This will do.”

“We agreed to sixty, did we not?”

“We agreed to sixty for one head, yes.” The constable didn’t follow, and neither did anyone in the inn. Thes stranger toed at the sack with his boot. The sack fell open, spilling its contents onto the floor. Three heads rolled into crowd in every direction. No child would leave the inn unscarred tonight. “I killed four. Here are your murderers.”

“And they’re all…vampires, master Sehun?” Hauch asked hesitantly. There was no point in being quiet about it now.

“It’s just Sehun. And yes. Of the lesser variety, mostly. They’re all bloodsuckers at the end of the day.” The stranger grasped one by its curls, lifting it high into the air for the crowd to see. Some gasped, some gave a thoughtful sigh, someone retched. “Here’s the leader of the pack.”

The inn goers, townspeople and tourists alike, watched slack-jawed and wide-eyed as he raised the creature’s lip with a gloved finger, revealing a series of sharp canines jutting out from the gums like shards of broken glass. This produced another round of gasps, sighs, and gagging. Not to be outdone, someone permitted themselves a yelp in surprise. It was truly unusual in this village for anyone to have _that_ many teeth.

Hauch immediately felt the most sober he had been in a fortnight, at least. Four of them. He sniffed, and straightened up.

“And that’s the end of it? No more killing?” He asked.

Sehun smiled hideously. “There’s always more killing, Hauch. Always. The nest is clear, this little family eradicated, but when the snow melts in spring…who knows?”

The Mayor did his best impression of an accordion, shrinking in on himself and expanding atop the stool. _Time to be a man, Ricard,_ he told himself. _Take control of the situation! Give the people a sense of safety, security!_

This hunter must have been part bloodhound, because he sniffed out the cowardly mayor immediately.

“I have a theory you won’t like, Mayor: there’s a Nosferat roaming the mountain range. Probably staked it’s claim to it, if you’ll excuse the expression. It’ll feed on horses, it’ll feed on sheep, it’ll feed on anything it can sink its teeth into, but what the Nosferat craves most is human blood. It’ll never taste anything as sweet, and it’s willing to do whatever it takes to get more.”

_Oh, damn it all!_ Ricard sighed. _Why can’t running a village ever be easy?_

Constable Hauch pressed his lips into a tight line. It was one of his more exaggerated gestures, and one he reserved for several things, including disgust and impending incontinence. He didn’t know which it would be tonight. The Mayor’s beady eyes searched the room frantically. Every gaunt-faced, snaggletoothed patron suddenly had a starved, feral look in their eyes that he didn’t like. A red-haired maiden with skin like a freshly peeled apple suddenly looked a shade too pale for normal, even for the dead of winter. Every freckle, every pair of blue eyes seemed suspicious.

Sehun continued: “…and so it travels from village to village, feeding and leaving a trail of new vampires in its wake, like our friend here.”

He tossed the severed head into the crowd and didn’t even flinch when it hit the stones with a crunch. _A little less force next time,_ he reminded himself. More gagging.

“New vampires?” Hauch stammered.

Sehun took a seat on an empty stool and loosened the bandolier around his chest. He gestured to the innkeeper, who seemed to understand him wordlessly and scurried into the kitchen. “Yes, new vampires. Do you think they just pop up out of the ground? Oh, no, my friend. Vampires are born.”

The Mayor stopped prosecuting the patrons for a moment to ask a very important question: “Like babies?”

The hunter flashed his dreadful smile once more, and the Mayor was relieved to see that at least his teeth were straight and not the least bit sharp. “Exactly. You see, there are two main varieties of lesser vampires in this part of the world. First, there’s the moroi.” The stranger nodded toward a fleshy lump of brown hair. One of the acrobats from the circus troupe gave it a swift kick and recoiled. A pink mouth, pink eyes, bone-white skin revealed themselves. “A moroi is born when another vampire, maybe a moroi or a strigoi, bites a human. Strigoi are born from a Nosferat’s bite. The victim, bled but not tapped dry, endures their agonizing metamorphosis over the course of several days. The most unlucky bastards suffer for up to a week. They sleep through it, mostly. So soundly, in fact, you would think they’re dead. By the time they’ve turned, you’ve already buried them six feet deep and their grave is littered with those little white flowers I see growing all over the countryside. It’s a horrible way to go, really. Choking on dirt in the dark. When they finally break through the earth…well, you can imagine how they might feel.”

“But that’s not likely how babies are born at all…” The Major said.

“Enough!” Hauch pressed his fingers into his temples. “Moroi, strigoi, Nosferatu…”

“Nosferat.” Sehun corrected.

“Yes, yes. You think it’s lurking up there,” He gestured to the mountains towering over the village, or roughly where they would be if you could see anything through the blizzard raging outside the inn. “In the mountains? Why?”

“Because there’s no shortage of food, constable. Because it’s easy. Because these dreadful peaks in the throes of a winter storm that wraps whole villages in a blanket of snow means that you all have no choice but to wait here for weeks until it thaws even a little. Because in the spring and summer, adventurous and trusting children will tumble into the forests at the foot of the mountains…”

“Little Magda…”

“Because green shepherds still struggle to navigate the winding roads nestled in the foothills.” The stranger took a generous sip of ale. “Because the one thing a Nosferat can count on in this world is that humans believe they’re at the top of the food chain, and that they can conquer anything. It’s hubris that will get you all killed.”

Sehun leaned toward Hauch. The Mayor insinuated himself at the center of their impromptu huddle.

“You don’t want any more blood on your hands. You need a professional, someone who can hunt this Nosferat and slay it where it sleeps before it can spread its evil further.”

“You could be lying!” Hauch shouted.

“After all I’ve done to help you, Hauch, I would hope you’d have a better impression of me.”

“Piotr,” the Mayor tugged the constable’s sleeve, “Piotr, we should consider this little…theory of his. We’ve lost six people. Who knows how many more vampires have been…born. And to think, when the buttercups start to peak their delicate little heads out from beneath the snow, there may be even more bloody vampires!”

Hauch pawed at his stubbly chin. “What do you want, then, hunter?”

“I’ll take two-hundred. Seventy-five now. The rest when I delivered the Nosferat.”

“That’s outrageous! No. No! It’ll be one-hundred or nothing at all.”

“Then it’ll be nothing at all.” The stranger folded his hands in his lap. The innkeeper filled his tankard to the brim. He couldn’t hide his smirk.

The Mayor steepled his fingers. “Ah, master hunter, sir, you must understand. The winter has been especially hard on our little village, and not just because of the vampires! There was the fire, maybe you heard? Then, no less than ten sows were taken by a virulent plague that swept through the hog house!”

“It’s true! Took me best hog!” Came a voice from the crowd.

“If we’re not careful, our little village’s meager coffers will dry up…and then we’ll have a whole other matter on our hands."

“I understand, Mayor. It’s really no problem at all. This Nosferat doesn’t care about your coffers, it doesn’t care about hogs or whatever nonsense you can conjure up. When the next village over loses a child, or a few pigs, they’ll issue a contract for the head of one vampire, and I’ll gladly accept. But it’s just one vampire, and the next village will face the same conundrum you’re faced with now. They’ll twiddle their thumbs raw trying to put a price on each little life. Tell me, Mayor…when the vampire makes off with your wife, what will you be willing to pay then? What’s the price of that life?”

***

  
It was settled, finally, after much haggling. Sehun couldn’t be more pleased with the arrangement. Hauch's full purse rested on the counter beside him. 

He raised his empty tankard. “This isn’t bad at all, mister…?”

“I’m called Dragos, friend.”

The fire had begun to die, and the storm shook the windows so hard Dragos thought they might shatter. This is the man that stepped out of that blinding, frozen chaos and plunged the village into a new nightmare. One with glowing crimson eyes, and teeth like blades, making off with pigs and children and wives and whatnot. Legion of them. A daisy chain of monsters lining the hills and erupting from the shadows.

Dragos shuddered. He didn’t know if he should fear or respect this stranger. There was no harm in both. He eyed the heads on the floor. What struck him the most was the delicacy of it…the cuts to the neck, that is. Like a surgeon. This was a dangerous man.

“Dragos, I think I’d like to stay a while. How quickly can you prepare a bath? A hot bath, as hot as the water your wife uses to dye her skirts?”

Dragos didn’t have a wife, but he understood the man’s request well enough. “Within the hour.” He waved at two of the barmaids, who hurried upstairs with armfuls of firewood.

“Excellent.” Sehun emptied a few of the coins from Hauch’s purse onto the bar, and push them across. “This should cover it.”

Dragos smiled a wide, gap-toothed smile. It would more than cover it. Tonight was a terrible, terrible night. He selfishly hoped there would be many more like it this year. Maybe those damn vampires would bring tourists, or thrill-seekers looking to catch one of their own. Did this man have other hunter friends with deep pockets and a generous disposition?   
  
Sehun loosened his bandolier a notch and leaned forward on his stool. “I’m starving, Dragos. Anything left in the kitchen I can help myself to?”

Dragos counted the coins, fully enamored. They were nice, regular coins. Not too clipped. And best off all: they were Hauch’s. “You can help yourself to whatever you like. A crock of stew, a loaf of bread…a pitcher of ale?”

“I like the way you think, Dragos,” Sehun said.

He vaulted over the bar with practiced ease. Dragos did tell him to help himself, and Sehun had no qualms with doing just that. He found the kitchen tucked at the back of the inn. It was empty, but very much alive: pots bubbled over, flames licked at a cauldron filled with…something. There was food, and that’s all he cared about.


	2. The Man in Black

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I should have known it would be you,” the man in black said. “Nobody else could do it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never proof-read anything, ever, and I feel you all should know this. Thanks for reading!

Sehun dropped the purse on the table nestled under the window of his room. The sound of it alone made up for the general state of the place and its many undiscovered charms.

A few more coins in his pocket usually had that effect. In fact, a little money made the whole dim world take on a beautiful hue. He figured it would last as long as the storm raging outside. The feeling, not the coin. No, the coin would set him up nicely for the rest of the winter, when he needed it the most.

When he was younger, a purse like this wouldn’t have lasted more than a few days even in an afterthought of a town like this. He had a way of spending money faster than he earned it, which in this profession was a lethal habit that claimed many hunters before him. There was eating to do,belt bags to mend, and horses weren’t cheap. Neither was silver, and a blacksmith that could shape silver into weapons suitable for vampire slaying was hard to find in this country.

That reminded him: he had a small arsenal of his own to unload. He unfastened the belt strapped to his chest and spread it out along the table. The belt on his waist—arguably, the most appropriate place for a belt—was the next to join it. Between the two of them, Sehun had himself a proper set of cutlery; three knives and his curved saber. Worthy of any cabinet, or maybe just the inside of a trunk lodged at the bottom of the sea.

His whole body screamed in pain. He wondered when it might hit him. He usually hoped not all at once, but when did the powers that be ever care about his hopes and wishes? He pressed his luck every time he crossed paths with one of those demons. One day it would just run out.

What the cold couldn’t numb, adrenaline did. He stripped slowly, careful not to tear at his clothes. Dragos must know someone who was good with a needle and thread. Sehun, skilled as he was, could never manage it himself. He poked his finger through a hole in his tunic. Yes, there had to be someone in the village who could fix this up for him. How much could it cost, a few denarii? He kicked the belts, the many shirts, the woolen hose, the hood, and everything else he’d managed to drape himself in to stay warm into a pile.

_So many belts_. It wasn’t an impressive assortment. An astounding amount of grey and brown, and the occasional patch of reddish-brown that may just have been a blood stain. Sensible colors for a ludicrous trade.

Sehun shivered, more aware than ever that the room he paid good coin for had a window with a sizable crack. To say the air was cold would be a gross understatement.

He took a wad of grey from the pile and crammed it into crack. Problem solved._ The tub awaits. _

Sehun lowered himself even more slowly and with greater care than when he disrobed moments earlier. The old man running the inn did well: the water was hot enough to scald. Almost perfect. He might actually be able to thaw out in an hour, which if he had to guess, was as long as the hot water would last.

He reached over the side and pulled his sack closer. He dug blindly for a minute, and pulled out a ratty old notebook that may have actually been made of rat. It really didn’t matter. But it did make him wonder. He brought it closer to his nose. _Sniff_. Like he could tell. No, it really didn’t matter. Sehun turned to a blank page and smooth it out as best he could with his one dry hand.

_October the 12__th__. Wallachia. Village…unknown_. He thought for a moment, and scratched out the last part. _Village_ _cradled in the Carpathian Mountains. Name unknown. _He decided to leave out the part about not bothering to learn the name of the village, despite visiting it several times. It made his journal that much much more poetic. Whoever read it in the future might appreciate his flourish. And if they didn’t, so what? He wouldn’t care; he’d be dead in a nest of vampires. Or maybe it would happen in an inn like this. He really had to stop being so morbid. He turned his attention back to the journal.

_Four vampires. One strigoi, three moroi. The strigoi couldn’t have been more than six months old. It was fast, but inexperienced. They were all starving. The snowstorm must have made it difficult for them to reach the village. When I approached the edge of the forest, I saw what remained of a deer. They tore the flesh from the bones, like a back of wolves. _

That wasn’t quite right. He scratched out the last sentence.

_Like vultures. _

He tapped the paper with the charcoal pencil. It was strange, what they did to that deer. All vampires need blood to survive, but for them, it was like they couldn’t get enough. They sucked the marrow right out of the bones. The bodies he inspected in the village were more…intact.

_I saw them slink into the forest. Their mouths were stained with blood. Then, they were on me. It was a fast fight. A hard fight. Two-hundred and twenty denarii for four heads. _

***

When Sehun came to, the storm outside had already begun to die. The howling wind was a growling wind, and through it all, the little wad of fabric in the window stayed put. He didn’t mean to fall asleep, but the water was so warm. And he…well, to be fair, he had lost a lot of blood. He knew an artist in Venice. Not a great one, but good enough to earn a living. He favored deep, rich reds, and when he cleaned his brushes, the water would turn muddy and pink. The water in tub looked just like that.

Sehun turned to get a better look at the gash, and wished he hadn’t. White-hot pain flared along his shoulder. The cold was gone, the adrenaline was gone, and all that remained was the pain.

And something else. Someone else, rather. The figure in the corner of the room stepped out of the shadows and into the pale moonlight. He wore a smile on his face that Sehun didn’t like. He didn’t say a word.

Whoever he was, he wasn’t a village yokel. Village yokels didn’t have smooth, unblemished skin and clear eyes. They didn’t wear black velvet cloaks lined with satin that shined like a raven’s feather in the candlelight. A prince from a far off land, then. Had to be. He had the poise of an aristocrat, or at least Sehun thought he did. He was too clean to be a farmer, too demure to be a traveling merchant. And anyway, merchants didn’t let the ends of their long, white sleeves dangle over their slender hands. Well, maybe some did. Sehun hadn’t kept up with fashion since he crossed the Danube.

The man in black—that’s what Sehun would call him—wore a tailored black jerkin over a white shirt, black trousers, and a pair of smart black shoes like the kind they wore in the shimmering cities across the Black Sea. He reminded him of that sea, so unfathomably dark…like obsidian. This man was too fashionable, and that meant there was no other possibility: the man in black was a vampire.

The man in black twisted the stone on his thumb. Something swirled inside of it, like a writhing plume of sentient smoke. Maybe it held his soul. Maybe he had to sell his soul to buy the damn thing. But he was a vampire, so he had no soul to barter with. Sehun couldn’t take his eyes off of it. The man raised his thumb to his mouth and held it there. Ruby inlaid in silver. A very tasteful blood-sucker. His eyes lingered a punishingly long time over Sehun, who had never felt more vulnerable in his entire life.

“You like what you see, wraith?” Sehun teased. In situations like this, it was his first line of defense.

The man in black tossed his silver hair. The color suited him, and Sehun hated that that was the first thought that crossed his mind.

“I should have known it would be you,” the man in black said. “Nobody else could do it.”

“A complimentary bloodsucker!” Sehun slapped the water and laughed. “Oh, but you’re all like that at first, aren’t you? So charming. So kind.”

The smile spread across his beautiful face took a sinister turn. “You misunderstand, little hunter. Plenty of people in your profession are capable of carnage. You’re no butcher, that’s clear. I saw the heads. You’re quite adroit with your sword, aren’t you?”

What was Sehun supposed to say? _‘Yes, I’m very good with sharp objects?’ ‘I’ve had a lot of practice?’_ Actually, either of those didn’t sound too bad. He was defenseless, though, and no amount of snark could shield him from a vengeful vampire. He cut straight to the chase.

“If you’ve come to kill me, to take your revenge on your children, I understand. I won’t make it easy for you, demon.”

The man in black approached the tub. He stroked the edge of the basin and inspected his fingers.

_No, it’s not silver, monster. Just regular old brass. Try again. _

And the man in black did. He dragged his finger across the surface of bathwater slowly and Sehun’s eyes followed. The water bubbled in the wake of his touch, just like Sehun hoped it would. Funny what a single drop of holy water could do. If Sehun thrashed, he’d send a wave of water crashing over the vampire. It wouldn’t kill him, but it would buy Sehun a little time to get to his blade.

The man in black seemed to understand this. He kept his eyes on Sehun, and when he brought his finger up to his mouth to soothe the burnt skin, Sehun watched intensely.

“You’ve taken every precaution.” The man in black said. “They were very precious to me, you know.”

_Good,_ Sehun thought. _Let the image of their heads rolling through the inn like pumpkins be seared in your mind._ The old hunters used to say that the most powerful vampires could read thoughts. Sehun used to laugh at them because it sounded like such bullshit. Now, he wasn’t so sure. Sehun thought very deliberately: _I’d do it again, I’d do it again, I’d do it again… _

He could see the man in black’s jaw clench.

Sehun was shaking. He wondered if the man in black noticed. “If they were so precious, what were their names? Give me one name.”

The man in black couldn’t. He hadn’t felt shame in half a century or more, but he did tonight. Names were…inconsequential. Everyone had a name, some people had many names. He hoped they would choose a new name for themselves, for their new life, but they didn’t get the chance. The hunter before him, relaxing in a steaming bath, had robbed them of that.

“The man with the golden hair and the kind eyes. His name was Gabriel. He was very handsome wasn’t he? His wife thought so too. He has a son. Had, I mean. Did you know?”

_Was that true? _The man in black thought. It wasn’t. The ride back down the mountain gave Sehun plenty of time to conjure up a backstory for the heads bobbing in the sack by his side. Some were more elaborate than others. Whether it was true or not didn’t matter; Sehun could feel the inner turmoil inside the man in front of him. And then, something happened. Something so fast, Sehun didn’t even see it. The man in black moved with supernatural speed and wrapped his fingers around Sehun’s throat.

He could feel the flesh of his palm crackling, and choked on his laugh.

“Everything I did, I did for love.” The man in black said quietly. The smell of burning flesh finally reached Sehun’s nose. God, it was awful, but he’d remember every detail of it and cherish the memory.

Sehun’s voice came out barely above a whisper: “What could you possibly know about love?”

The hands were gone, but he still felt the man behind him.

The flesh beneath where those hands had been moments before was the color of rose jam. A vein stood out against the curve of his neck, pulsing triumphantly. The man in black closed his eyes, and for a moment, he could hear the flow of blood coursing through that vein and the current traveling throughout the young hunter’s body. He was so full of blood. If only he could have a taste, just to see if it was every bit as good as he imagined.

_No._ He stopped himself. _It always starts the same, doesn’t it?_ A charming face, a little fear, and the warmth of their body seeping into his own. Humans were supposed to be like moths to his flame, not the other way around.

He was the oldest vampire in this strange land, a master of his kind, and sire to many. If he was the one to wield power over the humans and bend them to his will…then why did this errant knight, torn from the lines of some cheap poem, make him feel so weak? Why did his mortal body, shifting in the tab in a calculated rhythm, make this old blood sucker want to repent and seek salvation?

He could join him in that bath and let the water wash away all the guilt and sorrow he felt. He could let the young hunter with scars like ancient scripture tracing his body wash away his pain and make him whole again…even if he could never be human again.

There would be none of that tonight. He could hear the hunter’s heart was racing, and the man in black knew he was to blame.

Sehun didn’t turn to face him. He couldn’t bring himself to. He didn’t know if it was fear, respect, or some emotion he couldn’t place. Just when he thought he’d found the strength to break the silence, a hand buried itself in his hair. Another brushed against his throat, then the line of his jaw, and finally came to rest on the side of his face. The touch was soft and electrifying. He relaxed in the water, and forgot all about the maybe-fear-maybe-something-else that consumed him seconds ago.

“The sketches they hang on the noticeboards don’t do you any justice,” Sehun said. He didn’t really want to say it all. He wasn’t thinking clearly. The voice wasn’t his own. The words fell out of his mouth nonetheless. “You’re more beautiful.”

_Monster. Beast. Incubus. Damn you, damn me! What is happening?_

A thumb brushed his cheek. “Some people don’t think so.”

The voice was sweet, but steeped in sadness. Sehun was filled with a sudden urge to face the man behind him. He tried to turn his head, but the hands held in place.

“No, no. Don’t strain yourself,” the man in black cooed. Sehun decided to take the advice. “You’ve had a long day, haven’t you, little hunter?”

The creature behind him with a voice like warm honey passed a cloth over his neck and across his shoulders. Sehun didn’t even know where he found the thing; he knew he didn’t bring it into the bath with him. In only a few passes, the man in black washed away the dried blood and dirt that Sehun didn’t realize was there.

The cloth traced the scars on his chest. Some were white, some were pink. Most had been there for a while, and a few fresh wounds that Sehun knew would turn into gnarly scars when they finally healed. The one on his shoulder was the worst of the bunch.

The man in black noticed it, too. He seemed curious, and the cloth lingered above it for a moment.

“That’s a terrible wound,” he said. No concern, Sehun noticed, just pure observation.

“Terrible,” Sehun replied, “But not fatal. It’ll heal.”

“Mm,” was the only reply the man in black saw fit to give.

The cloth dabbed at the wound lightly, and damnit, it burned. No thanks to all the herbs Sehun dumped in the water.

“It will only heal if it’s treated.”

“Yes, I know…” Sehun said. “I have some supplies around here somewhere, I just haven’t had the chance.” Why was he telling him all this? _Too much information_, he thought. _I need to get out of this tub. I need to kill him. _

Sehun felt the man move, but only for a second. Something like smoke wafted in front of him, and then he felt his hands on his throat again. This time it was different.

“Lay back,” the voice said. “And turn your head to the right.”

Sehun obliged, as if he had a choice. He’d do anything this man said, and that worried him. He’d never met a vampire more charming. But it wasn’t really charm that made him do exactly as this vampire said, was it? No, it had to be something stronger.

He heard metal instruments clink together in the leather wrappings. The vampire must have recovered his medical kit. Glass vials rolled, paper crinkled. Sehun heard him uncork a bottle, but which one? The smell that emerged answered his question soon enough.

“I’m supposed to drink that, for the pain.” Sehun said. It really was awful stuff, that concoction.

“This would kill you,” the vampire replied.

“It hasn’t yet,”

Not the most convincing argument, Sehun had to admit. The vampire replaced the cork quickly, but unfortunately for the two of them, the smell hung around.

Salves and ointments felt different when someone else applied them, Sehun noted. He wasn’t used to someone with medical acumen tending to him, if he could even categorize this experience as that. No, Sehun’s line of work didn’t grant him the luxury of proper medical attention. It was usually him, half-dead and covered in blood—a dizzying combination of his and something else’s—trying to find the source and staunch the bleeding before be became full-dead. He had a one-hundred percent success rate in self-treating his wounds, so that had to count for something.

He suddenly felt very tired. He didn’t fight it. Gentle hands wrapped layer after layer of soaked bandages around his chest. Nothing hurt anymore, and that was good, even if it didn’t feel right.

“You know your way around a wound,” Sehun said. “Better than most barber-surgeons, I think.”

The man in black snorted. Sehun let himself lead the conversation down a path he had been afraid to go down since the moment he saw the man standing in the corner of his room. “You must be one of the old ones, then.”

“I am old,”

“You must have seen many things in your time, learned a lot too. Is that why you know how to treat wounds?”

“Maybe I was a great healer, part of the cult of Asclepius in Ancient Greece.”

“Were you?”

“No,” he said.

“I bet you’ve been all over the continent,”

“For the most part,”

“Ever visit Bohemia?”

“Several times,”

“Twelve years ago?”

He collected the assortment of tools, vials, and unnamed bottles in the leather pouch and stood up. Sehun wondered if he had written his last act, but it was too late.

“Yes.”

Sehun knew he needed to choose his next words very carefully, so he chose to say nothing at all.

“You know my name. Say it.” The man in black demanded.

“You’re Jongin. Lord Jongin, to be more accurate. As legends go in these parts, you’ve been a court noble, a duke, a count, a mercenary…all very impressive. What roles and distinctions hasn’t your long life afforded you?”

Jongin gave it some thought, and said finally: “Well, I’ve never been good at sailing. I wouldn’t make a very good sea captain.”

Sehun couldn’t laugh at that. The bandages around his chest would have made it impossible, anyway. His greatest enemy, the author of all his pain, was making jokes right behind him.He dreamed of this day, of how he’d plunge his knife into this charming man’s rotten heart and break the cycle of suffering that plagued this land and all of Europe for more than half of century. Everything he wanted felt so close, but so impossibly far away. Maybe there was something to laugh about, after all.

“And you’re Oh Sehun. Master vampire hunter, scourge of demons and lycanthropes. The last of his guild. A dying species.”

“Why are you doing this? Why did you go to all the trouble to sneak in here just to patch me up? Why not just kill me?”

_To be fair, Jongin thought, I didn’t sneak. I’m just not good at being loud. There’s a difference. _

It was a good question. His lips parted into a sad smile. “I think it’s because don’t like to see animals suffer. That’s what you are to me, little hunter. You’re not a lamb or a songbird, though. You’re like a wolf caught in a trap. You’re too clever and too stubborn for your own good. You’d gnaw your own paw off just to carry on another day, wouldn’t you? Well, I won’t let you.”

It was being in a trance, Sehun thought. He could do whatever he wanted with me this way.

He braced the sides of the tub and leaned forward, brushing Sehun’s ear with his lips.

“When you come to kill me, Sehun, I want you to be ready. I want a fair fight, an honest fight.”

“So noble,” Sehun said.

“Remember that about me, hunter. Please.”


	3. Flight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Editing? I don't know her. Proof-reading? I still don't know her!

Sehun woke to find himself in a bath tub full of hours-old water that smelled like death and didn’t look much better. He also found that he was alone.

He half expected that. What he hadn’t expected was that he didn’t take much comfort in the emptiness of the tiny room. A certain man in black was conspicuously absent. Sehun felt the faintest bands of sunlight on his skin, hailing the new day.

And fluttering just beneath the warmth was the traces of the Jongin’s cold, electrifying fingers tracing shapes in Sehun’s skin.

He moved his own fingers lazily over his throat, reconstructing the vampire’s journey. His clumsy motions failed to approach the gentleness of the vampire’s own. Sehun would have to forgive himself. He was, after all, only human. The vampire Jongin, on the other hand, was unforgettable. Damn him.

Would it have been nice if it had all been a dream? Nothing more than the product of a fever-stricken mind, inventing barber-surgeon vampires and witty banter to escape the near-death he never seemed to be able to escape in his line of work. As he rejoined the world around him, he felt the bandages strain against his chest, and sighed deeply.

With what little strength he could summon, he pushed himself up in the makeshift tub, taking in the vampire’s handiwork. Four passes of the bandages, layered nicely and without a single gap. It was worlds better than what Sehun would have managed on his own. The vampire had a talent for medicine.

The legendary Jongin had been here, in this room. He breathed the same air as Sehun. He took in the cacophony of the blizzard pelting the fragile inn just like Sehun. He spoke to Sehun like they were old friends, and not two diametrically opposed forces locked in a centuries-old battle.

He imagined Jongin laying in wait for Sehun in the room, watching him undress from the shadows before making himself known. Sehun shuddered. In his experience, vampires didn’t possess the same concept of personal boundaries as humans. If they weren’t already running their hands all over you, they were thinking about it.

Jongin had every opportunity to kill him, but he didn’t. He didn’t even try. Instead, Jongin cradled Sehun’s battle-weary body in his hands, cleaned his wounds, and made him as good as new. Jongin let Sehun live. Maybe it was overstating it to say that Jongin saved him last night. Sehun knew that, eventually, he’d have managed to get to his medical kit and patch himself up because, well, he always did.

Just more of that luck he seemed to have in spades.

Sehun moved slowly and pulled himself from the depths of the slimy bath tub, taking great care to keep his bandages dry.

***

The village was awash in all the brilliant colors of the morning. Even the heaps of snow, frozen into the shape of window panes, doors, and wooden posts. took on a powdery blue hue that even Sehun enjoyed.

The shingled and thatched roofs still sagged and creaked horribly under the added weight. The ground was hard and slick. The somber reality that everything could, and mostly likely would, come crashing down around them was never far from the front of the villagers’ minds.

Sehun found the mayor, the constable, and the priest in front of the church. At least, he thought it was the church. It’s exactly where a church out to be. Beneath all the blinding white, one could imagine a narrow bell tower.

It may have been below freezing, but the frenetic energy surrounding the three of them was enough to thaw out the whole mountainside. They’d found themselves another problem to solve, no doubt. Sehun could make out a look of consternation plastered on Hauch’s face. In typical fashion, the mayor just looked confused. Sehun amused himself by watching him shuffle from side to side like a child trying to keep warm.

The conversation in progress must have been dull, which could only mean that it was important. The mayor turned his attention to the mounds of carelessly shoveled snow. He delt the formation closest to him a swift kick, and caught Hauch’s attention immediately. With the hand that wasn’t shoved deep in his coat pocket, Hauch snapped his fingers frantically in Ricard’s direction like a hunter calling his dog. And, like any loyal hound, the mayor shuffled silently over to his side.

Ricard’s beady eyes shifted back and forth between a block of frozen something and Hauch, who didn’t bother to return his gaze. Sehun strained to hear their conversation. Fortunately for him, and for any other eavesdroppers in the square, their voices traveled.

“I just don’t understand what could have happened…” the priest said solemnly.

“Whaddya mean you don’t understand?” Hauch kicked absently at a pile of snow that, thankfully, wasn’t one of the many piles of snow disguising a tower of rocks the kids had erected a few days earlier. “It couldn’t be more obvious. The storm came—as you well know—whipping everything in its path, and the cross blew off into the blizzard. Who knows where it is now. Probably shattered into a hundred little pieces. And what could you possibly do with that? Anyway, it’s not like it’s a priceless artifact.”

The priest shot Hauch a withering look. Little did Hauch know, that’s exactly what a reliquary cross was.

The mayor set out on a mission to make peace between the two men. “Listen here, clergyman. We’ll commission a new one. A better one! One with more gold leaf, eh?”

Hauch cleared his throat loudly.

“The gold leaf can come later, of course. The important thing is restoring this cross. Such a powerful symbol, after all! A plain wooden cross would sit nicely atop the church, eh? Surely our grand plans for this church in the future are substantial evidence of our faith.”

“I suppose the simplicity of a wooden cross would be fitting, considering—”

“Then it’s agreed!” The mayor clasped his hands together and smiled brainlessly up at the constable. The best Hauch could do in this cold was snarl. It’d do. Ricard was already on the hunt for the next victim of his chipper mood. It’s not every morning you wake up to a stable full of horses and not a single drained corpse dangling from the beams.

Despite Sehun’s best efforts to hide himself in the shadows the inn threw over the village, nothing could escape the mayor’s hungry gaze.

“Ah! If it isn’t our hero, master Sehun!”

Sehun led his mare into the square. His bags were gathered on either side of the saddle, and he hoped that anyone who bothered to greet him this morning would take notice and let him be on his way with as little conversation as possible. Sehun may be lucky, but it didn’t mean that he always got what he wanted.

“Good morning, mayor.” He nodded to the other two men. “Lovely weather we’re having,”

“Lovely weather indeed!” The mayor said. “Oh, but a shadow still hangs over our little village this morning, master hunter. Our poor church has lost its cross! Seems last night’s storm stole it away,”

“No doubt,” Sehun replied. From across the square, he could see Dragos cradling something swaddled in old wash rags. Its delicate, gilded filigree twinkled in the sunlight. His eyes didn’t betray a single shred of guilt, just that of an imagination running wild.

“Well,” Sehun began, offering the mayor a reassuring pat on his capped head. “I’m sure it’ll turn up eventually,”

“I should hope so!” The mayor replied, his pink cheeks glistening. “We need all the holy support we can get in this village, eh, Hauch?”

Hauch spat and watched the steam rise in a solitary column. “Hell if I know.”

“Beg your pardon, clergyman.” The mayor said. “Seems our constable could benefit from more time in the pews and less time in the…well, you know,”

Hauch disagreed. So vehemently, in fact, that he decided to demonstrate just how far he could stray from that good light.

“Damn him, the swine!” Hauch spat.

Hauch had barely given Sehun second glance until now. His ego was still on the mend. He decided to resort to his usual tactic of vitriolic and vituperative attacks.

“So you’re leaving us, then, hunter? Leaving us! Just like that, eh? How brave, how absolutely noble,”

Sehun clutched the reigns even tighter, and wished that he stood just a few feet closer to Hauch. He’d give anything to knock his teeth in. Maybe then Sehun would finally get what he deserved: a rushed and not-so-friendly escort out of the village for good.

“Oh, no, no. That’s not true is it, master Sehun? You’re not abandoning us are you? Because if you were, you’d be leaving us to be picked off like…like…what did you say earlier, Hauch?”

“Fuck if I know, Ricard.” Hauch replied.

“No, that wasn’t it.” The Mayor tapped his chin in a thoughtful rhythm. “Weasels? No, no…ducks? Yes, yes, like sitting ducks! Wait, what was the question?”

“I believe I was asking myself why I’m still standing here in front of you gentlemen,” Sehun said. 

“Ah, yes. Looks like the storm has cleared up,” the Mayor said.

“For now,” Hauch growled. He cast his suspicious gaze up at the cloudless sky, searching for a sign that the world was coming to an end so at least he’d have an excuse to be miserable today.

“Well, let’s hope the sun shines a little longer on your village.” Sehun regretted his choice of words immediately. Hauch was on him in an instant.

“And just what’s that supposed to mean, eh? Is that a threat?”

“Calm down, Piotr. He’s simply exchanging pleasantries.”

“Pleasantries my ass,” Hauch spat. “You know as well as I do that as soon as the clouds return to blot out the sun, that demon you described—that Nosferatu or some other—”

“Nosferat,” Sehun corrected.

“It’ll have our throats!”

“Maybe, maybe not. That’s what I came to talk to you about, as a matter of fact. I’m leaving to hunt the Nosferat in the mountains.”

“Oh.” Constable Hauch wrapped his cloak tighter. “Is that right?”

“That’s right. It may take me some time, but I trust you’ll have the next installment ready when I return.”

“If you return, that is.”

“If I don’t, you’ll have bigger problems, Hauch.” Sehun mounted his horse. The saddle fit a little looser than he’d like. He’d fix it later once he was rid of the village and hidden in the trees above it. He steered the mare forward, and nodded at the mayor for the sake of politeness. A mistake. The mayor caught the reigns.

“Master Sehun! A word, if you please.”

Nothing could please him less. The mayor held the reigns tight. Sehun figured he had three options. He could run the mayor down. That might get messy. He could shake the mayor from the reigns and trot wordlessly out of the village. More diplomatic, but not conducive to earning a better reputation for his guild. Finally, he could entertain the mayor’s request.

The latter was the most painful option by far, for Sehun at least, but the most financially sound one as well. If he left a bad taste in their mouthes, he’d have to put up a fight to get paid when he turned.

“A word.”

The mayor fell in, pinning his little head against the saddle in an attempt to obscure his face from Hauch. “Master Sehun, I wish you all the best—truly! You must forgive Piotr, he’s lacking in the social graces, but he does care about the village and its people. I think.”

Sehun grunted. The mayor continued, more clandestine than before. If he got any closer, he could probably taste the saddle leather. “Just between you and I…do you think there’s any chance that one of those…what did you call them?”

“Morois,”

“Yes! Any chance one of those morois might pay a visit to the sheep pen tonight? Or the next night? Or…”

Sehun sat up as tall as possible in the saddle, taking the reigns with him. The mayor let out a little yelp in surprise.

“Always. But the likelihood of that decreases the closer I come to killing that Nosferat.”

“Yule is upon us, master hunter. Feasts and revelry, you know. I’d like a joyful yuletide for this village, if you take my meaning.”

“You want peace and quiet? Here’s my advice: leave this cold little village. Go somewhere warm and bright. I hear there are places in the north where the sun shines all day and night.”

The mayor blinked slowly up at him.

“I, uh, don’t usually rhyme like that,” Sehun said. 

“I quite like rhymes,” the mayor replied. Sehun thought that would be the end of it, but he was wrong. The mayor recaptured the reigns and let out a little sigh. It was like arguing with a child. Sehun couldn’t help but capitulate.

“Fine. Hang garlic over your thresholds. Jam a clove into every wreath and garland you can find. Not a single vampire, moroi or otherwise, will gamble their lives for a taste of blood.”

Seemingly satisfied, the mayor gave Sehun’s horse a pat on the neck. “Right, then, master Sehun,” The mayor stepped back. “I’ll leave you to it, then! Best of luck!”

Luck. How much more of it did Sehun have? 

Sehun prodded the mare, who seemed as eager as him to leave the mayor and the village behind. From the corner of his eye, Sehun could see the mayor waving to him. He just might miss him.

***

Sehun only looked back once. The village appeared in the distance, impossibly small and blindingly white, curled up in the lap of the great mountains like a cat. Anyone passing by would call it serene. They couldn’t see the ugly truth lurking beneath the freshly fallen snow. This place was death.

Maybe that little village would know peace, even for a little while. It didn’t hurt to be hopeful every once in a while. It would be Yuletide soon, and all of their pain and sorrow would be replaced with merrymaking, singing, and whatever else good people do to celebrate their good and normal lives. Maybe merrymaking and singing were the same thing; it’s not like Sehun had any first-hand experience. Those good folk would be worrying themselves sick over the most mundane things, like what to prepare for dinner. That would explain all the fuss about the pigs. What’s Yule without a hog to carve? No proper Yule at all, that’s what.

_Enjoy it, you fools. Enjoy it while it lasts. _

If they were lucky, and Sehun hoped they would be, they’d all get to live out their good and normal lives without every worrying about another vampire. If they were lucky, Sehun would do his job, and do it well.

Sehun gathered the reigns and steered the horse further up the mountain. He figured he’d enter the mountain pass just before sundown. A little further, and he’d find the trail that cuts through the forest. He'd be safer there. 

“What do you think? Another few hours and then we’ll settle in for the night?” Sehun stroked the side of the mare’s neck, and she snorted in reply._ I’m losing my mind_, Sehun thought. _First I let a vampire give me a bath, now I’m talking to my horse._


	4. Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If a vampire died in the mountains with no one around to witness it, did anyone give a shit?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the things you'll notice in this chapter is that I didn't bother to edit or proof-read it, once again. Also, if you find yourself thinking, "huh, I didn't know that about vampires" it's because I made it up. Except for the pricolici bit, that is a thing. Pro tip: the internet says that pricolici is pronounced "pree-cohl-ee-see", and we should all trust whatever we encounter on the internet. I sure do.

The sun disappeared behind the mountains, stealing away the last of its warmth and draping the forest below in velvety blue darkness.

The snow was still falling as night closed in around Sehun, but with much less enthusiasm. He watched flecks of it sail lazily downward and dissolve as the flames of his campfire soared higher. Monstrous shadows threw themselves across the craggy face of the mountain. When Sehun’s mare shook her head, a dozen eldritch arms exploded outward.

An unsettling peacefulness unfolded. Sehun understood why the vampires in this country had taken up residence in this mountain range. What it lacked in comfort it made up for in serenity and security. Nothing thrived here. Even the trees withered and bowed before the mountains. Nothing living would dare call this place home. Only the dead would claim it.

Sooner or later, the vampires would abandon this land and something new would inherit the mountains and the valley below. And maybe that something will find another something and beget a bunch of little somethings to plunge the valley into chaos once again. No matter how hard it was to say no to good coin these days, if they weren’t blood-suckers, they weren’t Sehun’s problem. That’s the second thing his old master taught him about this way of life: know when to walk away.

The first thing? Watch your back.

The creature fell on Sehun silently. He only registered its presence when something like shards of broken glass raked across his shoulder, tearing away his armor and pitching it high in the air. Where it landed, he couldn’t tell.

Sehun marshaled every muscle in his body into motion, and twisted himself to the left. The heels of his boots bit into frozen earth.

Sehun relinquished control of his body and mind to the years of training that had prepared him for this. He didn’t even feel himself draw his sword. The sound of metal sliding against leather was lost in the overwhelming silence that gripped the forest. Even the crackling fire had faded.

He held himself perfectly still, waiting to strike. Waiting for the sound of snow crunching faintly several yards behind him.

Ten claws flashed in front of him and clashed hideously against his steel. Sehun sank deeper into the fallen snow. He pushed forward with every ounce of strength he could summon, but the creature had the advantage. It curled its clawed fingers over the blade and pulled Sehun closer.

Sehun shifted his weight, and the creature stumbled. It was just enough to give him an opening, and he took it. He lobbed a vial over his shoulder and rolled right. He heard the glass shatter and the creature shriek.

Something terrible revealed itself in the unforgiving moonlight. It crept forward, limb by hideous limb, until its bald and bloodied knuckles came to rest in the snow.

It dared Sehun to look at it, as long as he could bear it. The blood-stained snout with its coarse brown fur jutted out of a round face, and the eyes set above it were undoubtedly human. Pinned to the side of its head were a pair of short, cropped ears flecked with the same brown fur.

A pricolici, in these mountains? This whole countryside had gone to hell.

The red-rimmed eyes bore even deeper into Sehun. They belonged to a cruel soul, the soul of someone who had entered into eternity with all the hope of a peaceful afterlife, but found themselves barred from heaven, barred from the pits hell, and sentenced to a life of roaming the world in endless pain and hunger.

Those eyes belonged to someone who had made sport of taking lives—a murderer—the punishment for which was a posthumous metamorphosis into the physical manifestation of their transgressions against humanity.

People in this country knew a thing or two about monsters, but the curse of the pricolici was one that they could only bear to speak about in hushed, anxious voices. Murderers returning from the grave, more blood-thirsty than ever and with a monstrous body to carry out the deed more effectively wasn’t something many people wanted to think about. That was the first problem.

Problem number two: nobody could even be sure the pricolici existed. There were no records of a vampire hunter slaying a pricolici. A few thought they had, of course. They trotted in butchered werewolves, vukodlaks, and even actual wolves. Only after careful examination by a fellow guild member could their vainglorious claims to slaying the rare pricolici be debunked. Nobody ever gave up the coin they earned for slaying a pricolici, though.

Even the Damphirs, those so-called half-vampires who bragged about their array of trophies collected from every creature named in Arnau’s Bestiary didn’t have a pricolici on display in their lodge.

The creature held Sehun’s gaze. They were two hunters sizing each other up in the scarce light the night afforded them.

If there was any humanity left in this creature, maybe it was enough to recognize that Sehun was as much a dying breed as it was. Its lips peeled back into a snarl that was all-beast. If there was just a drop of humanity left, it was composed entirely of the disregard for life that catalyzed this poetic transformation.

A guttural noise, somewhere between a growl and moan, erupted from the pricolici and put an end to the silence that Sehun was just starting to enjoy. A damn pricolici, of all things. If Sehun made it out of this one alive, he’d have a hell of a story to tell.

Sehun shifted, his sword arm turning out more than he’d like. He corrected his footing just before the creature fell on him again. He spun, and this time he was greeted by the familiar sensation of metal connecting with flesh.

The pricolici teetered back and forth on its hind legs, clutching at its punctured belly.

Sehun couldn’t find any sympathy for the beast.

Sehun thought back to the forest the other day, the unfortunate family of vampires, and the bloodless carcass picked clean. What happened to that deer wasn’t a mystery any longer: those vampires didn’t kill it, this thing did. And frankly, that made a hell of a lot more sense. But it raised even more questions.

Questions that Sehun was going to find answers to, one way or another. The pricolici sank to the ground, ccrambling in vain to gather its strew insides that were now entirely on the outside.

Sehun watched the pricolici’s chest rise and fall as it drew shallow, ragged breaths through its punctured lungs. Its eyes darted back and forth between Sehun and the edge of the clearing.

“It’s not gonna happen,” Sehun’s boot came down on the pricolici’s wiry tail. It yelped, and twisted around as best it could. “I’m surprised you’re still breathing with that hole in your gut.” The pricolici shook violently, another spasm racking its mangled body. “Must be spite,” Sehun said. “If it helps ease your troubled mind, I don’t intend to let you bleed out. It’s pretty cold out here, and I’d like to get back to that fire over there.” He tipped his sword vaguely in the direction of his camp. Orange flight flickered in the pricolici’s eyes. Even on the edge of death, they didn’t betray anything reminiscent of regret, or sorrow, and definitely not remorse.

“It was that fire that caught your eye, wasn’t it? I bet you haven’t seen anyone in these mountains in a long time. Not anyone living, of course. No, no, don’t strain yourself,”

The pricolici seemed to understand him. Its lips curled around its teeth, and for a moment, Sehun thought it was going to speak. And then it did.

“Huuuunnnterrrr,” it moaned. Blood bubbled in its throat. “Beware…danger all arrrround,” A fit of gargled coughing stole whatever it was planning to say next.

“The vampires, I know,” Sehun said.

The pricolici laughed in a way that was disturbingly human. Black blood sprayed the snow and Sehun’s boots. His new boots.

Another murderer, two lifetimes over, slain. And where were the townspeople to celebrate the triumph of good over unobjectionable evil? Where were the constables with their disdain for anyone that rendered them impotent?

If a vampire died in the mountains with no one around to witness it, did anyone give a shit? Hell, the damn thing probably wouldn’t have stepped foot outside of the mountains even in the worst of winters. Sehun’s guild lived by a universal truth: the only good vampire is a dead vampire. But the only good dead vampire was the one that got you paid.

He could hear the words of his old master, a battle-hardened guildsman: “Consider it a good deed, for the betterment of all humanity. But listen well: the people will love you when you slay the vampire, but hate you for taking away their husband. Or sister. Or child. It’s a double-edged sword, and we’re the ones who wield it when nobody else can.”

“When nobody else can.” Sehun whispered.

The pricolici died in that forest with absolutely no fanfare. What happened next felt like something out of a dream, but unfortunately for Sehun, it was entirely real.

See, the funny thing about pricolicis and all the other monsters that had managed to escape an era of endless documentarian efforts on the part of the guild was that nobody seemed to know a damn thing about them, other than that they possibly existed. Possibly.

There were a lot of gaps forming at the edges of Sehun’s trusty, and more often than not, inventive bestiary. And what Sehun definitely did not know was that pricolici claws produced a venomous slime, and that venomous slime was a potent psychedelic when unleashed upon human biology.

The way the fire swelled and sputtered in time with the pricolici’s strained breathing should have been his first clue. But it was just so…beautiful. And funny, for reasons he couldn’t explain and didn’t care to. Monsters and magic. Or was it monstrous magic?

He felt the walk back to that dazzling campfire was painfully long and monotonous. Tree. Tree. That same tree, over and over again. No matter how many steps he took, Sehun couldn’t make his way past this damn tree. The life-giving glow of the campfire eluded him.

Campfire. Vampire. Were the two words always so similar?

Sehun swiveled, and found the pricolici laying lifeless at his feet, in the exact same spot it had been minutes before.

I’m losing my mind, he thought. Or, I’m dying.

When Sehun shook his soiled blade with a flick of the wrist, blood splattered and disappeared into the fallen snow no sooner than it had touched it. Sehun shook it once more, letting the scene unfold for his pleasure anew. It was like nature was cleaning up its own mess, reclaiming what was rightfully hers.

When he looked up, he saw a familiar figure silhouetted against the trees. The moonlight played upon his features, simultaneously revealing too much and too little.

Sehun cursed under his breath. Had Jongin been there the whole time, watching the fight play out like cheap theater? Jongin, vision of eternal youth, simply leaned against a tree and smiled.

Sehun wanted to ask him what he was doing here, but he knew the answer to that. Instead he heard himself, in a very unfamiliar voice, ask him: “Have you always been so tall?”

A litany of questions swirled in Sehun’s mind. Was his hair this shiny last night, in the room? And if it wasn’t, why the hell was it so shiny now? Damnit.

The world around Sehun was fading fast. Jongin’s voice floated across the clearing and into Sehun’s overly sensitive ears.

“What’s the matter, little hunter? Are you so shocked to see me? Your hands are trembling.”

Sehun looked down at the sword shaking in his grasp. So they were.

“I can hear your heart beating. A little too fast for normal, wouldn’t you say?”

His heart felt like it was going to beat right out of his chest. Sehun struggled to loosen his bandolier.

“Don’t tell me that dog bested you. Why, you’re the renown Oh Sehun! Scourge of every fanged, horned, and clawed creature this side of the Danube…”

The rest of the vampire’s velvety monologue were lost in the buzzing inside Sehun’s head.

So this is how it ends, Sehun thought. The cold, penetrating wind bit into him. Or maybe, it was the frigid embrace of death. He felt the snow around his knees, and only then did he realize he was sinking. Or rather, falling. His legs failed him.

“Hunter…” he heard the voice of that damned vampire call out to him. “Sehun.” The playful tone was gone.

Sehun didn’t feel the sword slip from his palsied fingers. He thought he would be more afraid of this moment, but he was too cold to feel anything anymore.

He closed his eyes and greeted the snow beneath him.

***

Jongin toured the fallen vampire hunter, the fire of his lamplight catching and loosing the details of his prone body in the snow. Sehun didn’t stir. He didn’t even make a sound. He brought to mind a much-loved rag doll that had been tossed aside by a child, accidentally of course, and left to soak up the dirt and collect hoarfrost until it could be recovered.

“I was coming here to kill you, you know.” Jongin stepped over Sehun’s crumpled form, taking care not to damage the numerous vials and tubes that decorated the hunter’s bandolier. “Well, that’s not entirely true. I came here to decide if I should kill you. How serendipitous that you just so happened to set up camp here in this forest. Though, it’s all one big forest if you really think about it, isn’t it? I’m tempted to say that destiny brought us together once more, but I know well enough how attractive a few hundred denarii can be to someone in your line of work. I suppose the decision to kill me was far easier for you.”

When the vampire hunter didn’t deal Jongin a snarky reply, he knew this wasn’t a game. Nevertheless, he felt defeated.

“Hunter? Are you dead?” Jongin nudged Sehun will the toe of his boot. When that didn’t rouse him, Jongin rolled him onto his back. Sehun put up no resistance. His heavy-lidded eyes fluttered as consciousness slipped further and further away from him.

Jongin knelt down and peeled off his gloves. The lantern flickered, illuminating his way as he brushed the coal-black hair from Sehun’s face. He was still warm, and he could feel the drum of his heartbeat settling into a more reasonable rhythm.

Jongin’s fingers searched the outline of Sehun’s throat, venturing further down until they found their mark. Claw marks, that is. There were several etched across his neck, shallow enough not to do any lasting damage but enough to draw blood. Sehun probably didn’t even feel it.

The lamplight lacquered the tips of Jongin’s fingers, where he found them painted with a dull grayish-green residue. He didn’t get a good look at the lump of fur and viscera that Sehun had abandoned on his way back to his camp, and he didn’t need to. The mystery before him was easy enough to solve: Sehun had run afoul of a pricolici.

Jongin shook his head, and regretted that Sehun couldn’t see the blend of pity and judgement that he wore on his face. All Sehun could do in his present state was wheeze and shudder. That was progress…and an opportunity for Jongin to taste victory. He’d never seen pricolici venom work before. He couldn’t even be sure before this moment that pricolici venom, much like the pricolici itself, was more than a myth. Watching Sehun wrestle with its effects was educational, if not a little satisfying.

“See, hunter, this is a teachable moment.” He settled in beside Sehun and drew his knees up to his chest. “Wasting your considerable talents fighting a flea-bitten, mange-ridden dog doesn’t become you,”

Jongin had seen the dozens of enthusiastic thank-you notes pinned to town notice boards, and he’d heard villagers sing the praises of the cloaked warrior who dispatched vampires with a sword brought straight from the holy land. The whole country knew what Oh Sehun was capable of.

Maybe all that supposed good he did for humanity hadn’t yielded him as much luck as he thought it would. This is what he deserved for his carelessness. For what he did to poor Viktor. Isabella. Marishka. Whatever the hell the other one’s name was, not that it mattered any more.

This is what Sehun deserved for the way he looked at Jongin last night from his bath, so full of contempt. But most of all, this is what he deserved for the way he made Jongin feel.

Maybe the venom would claim Sehun after all, and Jongin would be free of him and the crushing weight of his damn conscience. The wisest of his kind had parted ways with such things as morality long ago. It wasn’t exactly compatible with their species’ particular flavor of hedonism.

To say that this vampire hunter was different from the rest would be a lie, not that Jongin was opposed to telling them. Sehun was a true master of his craft and exemplar of his guild. He was everything the world expected him to be, and it was fitting that he should be the last of his kind.

Sehun had tasted imminent extinction, just like Jongin. They carried the weight of the sacrifices they made in pursuit of the greater good, although their definitions were vastly dissimilar. In truth, those sacrifices didn’t make them a martyr. It made them selfish. At the end of the day, only their survival mattered.

He and this hunter were nearing the end of a very long journey. Night was closing in around them. Jongin wondered if they would meet this end together.

***

Sehun’s horse stood guard over the campfire. She shook her head, disapprovingly, Jongin thought. He could use a strong horse in these mountains. It wouldn’t cost him a single drop of his supernatural charisma to charm the mare and make it forget all about its master. The reason was simple enough: she knew when the cards were stacked against her. She needed him to make it through the night. Jongin’s mind was made up.

“To me, beast.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We live in strange times, and recent months have been especially difficult for all of us. It's been hard to create lately. If you're reading, thank you for your interest and attention. Your comments and kudos brighten my day. The story will continue, in time, and your patience is appreciated.


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